our two sons are already old enough to
help you, and soon they may get married, and so bring you two new female
labourers."

"My eldest son," explains Ivan, "always works in Moscow, and the other
often leaves me in summer."

"But they both send or bring home money, and when they get married, the
wives will remain with you."

"God knows what will be," replies Ivan, passing over in silence the
first part of his opponent's remark. "Who knows if they will marry?"

"You can easily arrange that!"

"That I cannot do. The times are changed now. The young people do as
they wish, and when they do get married they all wish to have houses of
their own. Three shares will be heavy enough for me!"

"No, no. If they wish to separate from you, they will take some land
from you. You must take at least four. The old wives there who have
little children cannot take shares according to the number of souls."

"He is a rich muzhik!" says a voice in the crowd. "Lay on him five
souls!" (that is to say, give him five shares of the land and of the
burdens).

"Five souls I cannot! By God, I cannot!"

"Very well, you shall have four," says the leading spirit to Ivan; and
then, turning to the crowd, inquires, "Shall it be so?"

"Four! four!" murmurs the crowd; and the question is settled.

Next comes one of the old wives just referred to. Her husband is a
permanent invalid, and she has three little boys, only one of whom is
old enough for field labour. If the number of souls were taken as the
basis of distribution, she would receive four shares; but she would
never be able to pay four shares of the Communal burdens. She must
therefore receive less than that amount. When asked how many she will
take, she replies with downcast eyes, "As the Mir decides, so be it!"

"Then you must take three."

"What do you say, little father?" cries the woman, throwing off suddenly
her air of submissive obedience. "Do you hear that, ye orthodox? They
want to lay upon me three souls! Was such a thing ever heard of? Since
St. Peter's Day my husband has been bedridden--bewitched, it seems, for
nothing does him good. He cannot put a foot to the ground--all the same
as if he were dead; only he eats bread!"

"You talk nonsense," says a neighbour; "he was in the kabak [gin-shop]
last week."

"And you!" retorts the woman, wandering from the subject in hand; "what
did YOU do last parish fete? Was it not you who got drunk and beat
your wife till she roused th